


Left You Love Notes On Their Headstones

by Krasimer



Series: The Horror Of Our Love [1]
Category: Fright Night (2011)
Genre: But Jerry is creepy, Human/Vampire Relationship, I am creeped by him, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Jerry had a reason for leaving Peter alive, Jerry is an assumed identity, Just know I'm going to write creeper fic about him, M/M, Obsession, Peter Vincent is a stage name, Peter wouldn't allow it, Seriously just implied, Sort Of, Stalking, They went sexual predator with their vampire, Vampires, which is fine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-19
Updated: 2018-09-19
Packaged: 2019-07-14 09:18:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16037501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Krasimer/pseuds/Krasimer
Summary: There had simply been one reason.The reason he had chosen a city so close to Las Vegas. The reason he had chosen a developing neighborhood in the desert, far away from police intervention and cell reception. A stone’s throw away from the Strip, only a little further from his true goal. There was one reason and one reason only that he had chosen his hiding place so very well.And that reason was Peter Vincent.





	Left You Love Notes On Their Headstones

**Author's Note:**

> Just another head's up, folks -- Jerry gets creepy in this and implies things that he wants to do to Peter. We know Peter wouldn't be up for it, but that is sort of Jerry's modus operandi.

****A tiny, developing suburb in Nevada hadn’t been a mistake.

He hadn’t chosen it at random, picked off a list of similar cities that might have suited him. He hadn’t come to, one day, and decided to move on a whim. There had been no moment, big and glorious, of an epiphany.

There had simply been one reason.

The reason he had chosen a city so close to Las Vegas. The reason he had chosen a developing neighborhood in the desert, far away from police intervention and cell reception. A stone’s throw away from the Strip, only a little further from his true goal. There was one reason and one reason only that he had chosen his hiding place so very well.

And that reason was Peter Vincent.

Oh, the name didn’t matter at all. Didn’t matter that his hair wasn’t naturally that length or that color, that he didn’t actually have tattoos or that he wore leather pants tight enough to cut off circulation—

None of that mattered. The collection of relics and weapons, truthfully, didn’t matter much either.

He still remembered that scent.

That was what mattered.

The scared boy who had been in the house when he had ripped the life out of it. The one who had hidden, surprisingly well for a human, and had been trying to cry as quietly as possible. He remembered a family with the name of Harrington, their young son named Peter. He’d been called Matthew, back then.

He wasn’t going to begrudge the boy a change of names. His had been merely to blend in.

Young Peter’s had been to hide.

Or try to, at least. A career built off the back of the memories of his trauma, the sounds of his parents being slaughtered because they let the monster inside the house and trusted the friendly face it wore. He knew what he was to those people, remembered the two shots Peter’s father had gotten off before he’d stopped letting him shoot. Funnily enough, he didn’t remember their names, just their son’s. That had always been the important part, anyway.

At the time, he had only been passing through the small English town, intent on feeding and moving on as soon as possible.

And then he had caught that _scent_.

The mixture of comforting and aggravating, drawing him in closer and closer until he had seen the boy at the other end of it. Thirteen, at the time, growing quickly but still such a child. There had been hints of such joy in his scent, at ease in his skin in a way not many children that age were. When he slaughtered Peter’s parents, he had left that gangly teenage boy hiding away in the attic, thinking he was at least somewhat safe. He was a monster, but not that sort – Let the boy grow up, see what so much _fear_ does to that scent of his.

See how much better he would smell, would _taste_ , with fear flooding his veins and making his heart sing just for him.

Because he had known, from that first moment, that he would be coming back for the boy. Peter would be his, one day. The path to them being together, to his possessing Peter in a tangible way, had taken some turns but he had always found the boy again. Sometimes it seemed like they had traveled the whole world together, the two of them. Peter had been running for so long, had dipped his hands into so many jobs and tricks, selling parts of himself to make things work.

His sanity, his happiness, his sobriety…

Ending up as a magician had practically been a fluke, a bit of luck at just the right time. He’d been fascinated to watch Peter take to the stage, watch him command it like he owned it.

Very few things had come as easily and naturally to Peter as a career on stage.

One of the few things he remembered about the boy’s parents was a conversation he’d had with them about their son. Peter, at the age of twelve, had gotten the lead role in a play he’d been a part of. A born actor, his mother had praised. Demanded your attention, your eyes on him, made you feel a part of what you were watching, said his father.

It had been years but he hadn’t allowed those details to slip.

Peter had been a rising star. Had showed promise and a bright future. The deaths of his parents had been a dark blotch on the film of his life.

He stood at the back of the auditorium, watching as what was his performed a ridiculous bit of magic. Sleight of hand, hard for the normal eye to follow, easy to track for him. Peter looked ill at ease in the getup he wore, all dark makeup and long curls that made him cut a different sort of figure.

Feeling his teeth aching, he ran his tongue over them.

Even through the crowd, the din of gasps and screams, he could still hear him, _smell_ him, could still feel that ages-old answering off-beat in his chest. Peter was _his_ , no matter how many times he had sex with someone else, no matter how often he drank himself into oblivion, no matter how often he tried to distract himself with all the things that money could buy.

Peter was _his._

It was almost a shame that the man didn’t know it yet, perhaps didn’t remember.

He would. There would be no other option for it – Peter would remember and lose his humanity as he took him to bed, fed him his blood and pressed so deep inside of him that he would be reformed. Until his body would only accept him, until Peter had been shaped into what he was meant to be.

Until he and Peter walked through the night together, changing others for their new family.

He had let the boy grow up, after all, for a very singular purpose. That scent of his, the one that had drawn him closer and closer still, had been intoxicating from that very first moment. Peter had been easy to resist as a child, but the siren-song of his potential had not been. He had let the boy live just for that one reason. They would be together soon, Peter would be his. The best part in all of it was that he could still go around as Peter Vincent, a master magician, Vampire Expert. The silly little titles humans insisted on using and giving.

And they would be together, given time.

He might not even have to take out some of the neighborhood boys before then, the ones that kept poking around his yard. He had only seen them twice, short enough times that it might have been brushed off as a coincidence, but he could recognize a pattern when he saw one.

And the glint of a video camera recording his every move.

One of them was called Adam and he stank of bitter fear and stale sweat, the scent of the average teenage boy.

He might have to do something about the two of them.

**Author's Note:**

> I literally sat there, exhausted, and went, "I have to write this." 
> 
> I then wrote it, stared at my screen for a minute, and then laid down and passed the fuck out. When I woke up this morning to go to school, I reread it and decided I liked it enough to post it.


End file.
